


Things That Go Bump In the Night

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [18]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Transformation, Whumptober Day 18: Muffled Screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Humanity dies not with a bang, or a whimper, but with a muffled scream.Prompto Argentum finally undergoes the Change.





	Things That Go Bump In the Night

There is nothing quite so horrifying as shucking the human trappings to trade them in for something greater. Something not natural by design. Something… daemonic.

It has been 475 days since Noctis was taken by the Crystal, and Prompto Argentum, former Crownsguard to the late Prince, has finally begun taking on the Change. The process first came to light 133 days after residual particles began drifting on the wind at all hours. At first people thought it was falling ash from Ravatogh, the massive volcano housing the Infernian’s body erupting once more. But it wasn’t, and as the days wore on people began to change. Fingernails and teeth thickened, skin grew tougher, like sandpaper. People’s appetites began to drift away from vegetation and fruits and more into meat. 

Like some kind of cosmic ripple, the daemons of the world grew bigger and bolder and meaner and more warped. More twisted. It was like Ardyn opened Pandora’s box all over again, minus the good aspects to bring them guidance.

Ignis vanished three weeks ago. Just gone, abruptly. No word of warning, no correspondence. Gladio, a week after that. Prompto can’t remember the last time he’s seen Holly or Cindy, or even Cor. But then, once Ignis vanished Prompto locked himself away in a trailer and refused to go outside for anything. 

Slowly, even with the walls in place and the protections steady, the numbers are thinning. The daemons don’t attack as much anymore, but they don’t need to - they’ve grown intelligent enough to realize that if they wait, humanity will die out on its own. 

Prompto is one of the few left. The city is quiet now, almost empty. The lights have begun to go out without Hunters going out to replenish the stock of batteries. Prompto doesn’t want to think what’s going to happen once the daemons decide to stop waiting, and simply charge through the barricade. He doesn’t want to think about what  _ Noctis  _ is going to come out to. What he’s going to think when he emerges at last, and there’s nothing left. No reason to make the sun come up.

But then, by that point, Prompto might not even care.

His skin is thick and heavy, his teeth curving points in his mouth. He whimpers, cries out, muffled screams into his pillow as his body begins to shift to match its new world. He doesn’t want to be a mindless, hungry beast, incapable of rational though. He doesn’t want to forget Noctis, Ignis or Gladio, or all the friends they’ve made, now lost. He doesn’t want to leave Noctis alone as the literal last man standing. 

He cries out as a fresh wave of pain rips through his body. Outside, he hears something moving. Something big. And then two somethings. His window is smashed in, clawed hands tearing through way through the fragile glass like it’s nothing. Through teary eyes, Prompto sees that the daemon-repelling lights outside the garage have finally stopped working. He doesn’t hear anyone running, or screams, or even daemons tearing through the walls. Just the broken glass being stepped on as two daemons crawl inside, clearly eager to sup on easy prey. One is tall, with long narrow ears and horns like an Arba’s, glowing golden eyes locked onto Prompto as it moves on all fours. The other is built like a tank, massive, with horns like that of a bull, pointed outward. 

Prompto can do nothing as they move toward him, the limber one reaching out a clawed hand to Prompto’s face. Prompto tries to turn his head away, but his muscles won’t cooperate. He wishes he at least had enough energy to put a bullet between his eyes. 

The tall one  _ croons  _ at him, low and soothing as Prompto cries out again, and strokes gentle fingers across his brow. He’s burning up, but the daemon feels so cold, and it’s wonderful. It pets him, still making those low, reassuring noises, while the bigger one chatters angrily, although it’s soon quieted when the smaller one hisses at it. 

A thought passes through Prompto’s head as the daemons move around him, not tearing him to pieces, but clearly trying to  _ help  _ him. The big one is pulling the blankets around him, trying to build a nest, while the smaller one puts on knee on the bed, uttering soothing vocalizations.

“Iggy?” he gets out, voice cracking, barely above a whisper. “Gladio?”

The daemons react to the names, the smaller one reaching down to gently butt his head against Prompto’s. He’s purring, Prompto thinks, and Gladio is too, now that he can hear it. If this is really them, and not a case of Prompto steadily going mad through the pain of the Change.

But even if that is the case, would it be so bad? To pretend his friends are here, helping him through it, rather than out there somewhere in the cold night, unknown to all but the daemons? 

They shift themselves over him, all long limbs and hooves and tails and claws, burrowing him between them like a child between its parents. A large tongue begins to clean him, and while Prompto protests, Gladio makes no move to stop, keeping one large claw on his head to keep him still while he licks away weeks worth of grime and sweat without any issue. Ignis meanwhile is shredding the clothes he wears, steadily hooking his fingers into sections of the uniform and pulling him out of it. The night air feels good on his skin, and for once his sense of shyness has fled. The pain is dull now, but he can feel his body on the cusp of something new, and he knows there’s no way back.

So he buries his face in the tuft of fur on Ignis’ chest, and clings tight as his humanity abandons him, and he enters a new phase of life. 

He just hopes Noctis will understand.


End file.
